“Why do you come here? Has the Lord forsaken you over yonder, that you come back to this pest-house? Get out of it as quickly as you can. Go down and hide yourself in the Schmidt’s cottage—perhaps they will not betray you. Anyway, you can’t stop here with us.”
“That is just what I mean to do, Lisette,—stop here with you,” smilingly responded Marie. “Where is my friend Cambray?”
“How should I know where he is? A pretty question to ask me! He isn’t anywhere. He has gone to bed, and you can’t see him.”
“I shall hunt till I find him, Lisette.”
“Well, you will do as you like, of course; but you will not find M. Cambray, for he doesn’t want to see you.”
“Very well,” returned Marie. Then to the lad by her side, “Come with me, Laczko; we will hunt for the gentleman.”
Lisette was beside herself with terror at the danger which threatened Marie; but before she could utter another word, the young girl and her little escort had disappeared down the corridor.
There was a great change everywhere in the castle. The floors were covered with muddy foot-tracks; huge nails had been driven into the varnished walls, and great heaps of dust, straw, and hay lay about on the inlaid floors of the halls and salon. Marie hardly recognized her former immaculate asylum.
She called, with her clear, soft-toned voice, into every room, “Cambray! father! art thou here?” but received no reply.
Then she mounted the staircase to her own apartment. The door was open like all the rest, but a first glance told Marie that the room had not been used until now. Lisette, beyond a doubt, had lodged her respected guest in this only habitable chamber.
Marie entered and looked about her. The metal screen was down!
She hastened toward it. There was a light burning in the alcove, and she could see through the links by placing her eyes close to them. The noble old knight was lying on the bare floor, with his hands forming a pillow for his head. His glassy eyes were fixed and staring, and burning with a startling brightness. His parched lips were half-open, as if he were speaking.
“Cambray! Father!” called Marie; in a tone of distress.
“Who calls? Marie?” gasped the fever-stricken man, making a vain attempt to rise. He fell back with a deep groan, but flung out his hand as if to ward off her approach.
“Let me come in, Cambray. It is I, your little Marie. Please let me come in. There, close to your right hand, is a button in the floor. Press it, and this screen will rise.”
The sick man began to laugh; only his face showed that he was laughing, no sound came from his parched throat. He was laughing because he had prevented his favorite from coming to his pestilential resting-place.
Marie deliberated a moment, then decided to resort to stratagem:
“If you will not let me come in to you, papa Cambray,” she called, simulating a petulant tone, “I shall go away, and not come back again. If you should want anything there will be a little boy here, outside; you can summon him by pressing that button. Good night, dear papa Cambray!”
The sick man turned his face toward the screen and listened in dreamy ecstasy to the sweet voice. He raised his hand, waved it weakly toward the speaker, then clasped it with the other on his breast, while his lips moved as if in prayer.
“Go fetch candles, and the tinder-box,” whispered Marie to the little Laczko. “Place them here by the sofa, then light the lamp in the corridor.”
“May I fetch my gun, too?” asked the boy.
“Your gun? What for?”
“I shouldn’t be afraid if I had it with me.”
“Then fetch it; but don’t come into the room with it, for I am dreadfully afraid of guns. Leave it just outside the door.”
It was quite dark when Laczko returned with the candles and a heavy double-barreled fowling-piece. He carefully placed the latter in the corner, then asked:
“Shall I light the candles now?”
“Certainly not. I don’t want the gentleman to know that I am here. Maybe he may want something, and open the screen. I am going to lie down on this sofa, and you are to stand close by the alcove and watch the gentleman. If he should lift the screen, and I have fallen asleep, you must waken me at once.”
Marie wrapped herself in her shawl, and lay down on the leather couch. Laczko took up his station as directed, close by the metal screen, through which he peered from time to time.
But there was no danger of Marie falling asleep. She could not even keep her eyes closed. Every few moments she would sit up and ask in a cautious whisper:
“What is he doing now?”
“He is tossing from side to side.”
This reply was repeated several times.
At last the answer came that the invalid was perfectly quiet, whereupon Marie decided not to inquire again for an hour.
Suddenly she heard the lad say, in a trembling voice:
“I am dreadfully frightened.”
“What of?” whispered Marie.
“The gentleman lies so still. He hasn’t stirred for a long time.”
“He is asleep, I dare say.”
“If he were sleeping his breast would rise and fall; but he is perfectly still.”
Marie rose, and hastened to the screen. The smoking wick in the night-lamp near Cambray’s head illumined his ghastly face. Marie had already seen one such pallid countenance—that of the old servant Henry when he lay dead on his bier.
She shuddered, and retreated with trembling limbs, drawing the lad with her.
“You may light the candle now,” she whispered; “then we will go back to Lisette.”
Laczko lighted the candle, then shouldered his gun, and preceded his young mistress down the staircase to the lower story.
They had almost reached the door of Lisette’s room when Marie, who had been peering sharply ahead, stopped abruptly, and exclaimed in a startled tone:
“There is a man!”
Even as she spoke a dark form stepped from a doorway into the corridor in front of them. Marie retreated several steps; but her little escort proved that he was made of sterner stuff. He placed himself valiantly in front of his young mistress, laid his gun against his cheek, and aiming directly for the stranger’s breast, said, in a brave tone:
“Halt, or I will shoot you.”
“That’s my brave lad,” commented the stranger. “But don’t shoot. It is I, your father.”
“Don’t come any nearer, I tell you!” responded the lad, threateningly.
“Why, I am not moving a muscle, lad; don’t be foolish.”
“What do you want here?” demanded Laczko. “I will not let you do any harm to my mistress.”
Here Marie, who had recovered from her alarm, came forward, and laid her hand over her small defender’s eyes.
“Take down your gun, Laczko,” she commanded. Then turning to the stranger asked: “What do you want, my good man?”
For answer the man merely pronounced a name:
“Sophie Botta.”
Without an instant’s hesitation, and although she shuddered involuntarily when her eyes fell on the stranger’s repulsive countenance, the young girl went close to his side, and said calmly:
“What do you wish me to do?”
Satan Laczi held the thumb-ring toward her, and said:
“The person who wears this sent me to fetch you away from here. Are you ready to come with me at once?”
“I am,” replied Marie, who seemed unable to remove her eyes from the hideously ugly face before her.
“My master,” continued the ex-robber, “also bade me fetch a little steel casket. Do you know where it is hidden?”
“The person who had it in her care has already taken it to your master,” was Marie’s response.
“Ah, she has taken it to him?” repeated Satan Laczi. “Then it is all right. I know now what I have to do. My master bade me convey you to a place of concealment; but my face is not exactly the sort to win anybody’s confidence. Besides, I know some one who can perform this errand as well as I. The way to Raab is clear. Instead of taking you there myself, my wife will go with you. I think you would rather have her for a companion?”